


Stories Like Ours Have Happy Endings?

by greenmage128



Category: Chess - Rice/Ulvaeus/Andersson, Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Chess Metaphors, Crowley's in it; I'm not sure what else you were expecting, Emotional Manipulation, M/M, Manipulation, Multi, and some, kind of; but this comes with the territory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-29
Updated: 2015-04-29
Packaged: 2018-03-26 07:23:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3842134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greenmage128/pseuds/greenmage128
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everybody's playing the game, but nobody's rules are the same.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stories Like Ours Have Happy Endings?

**Author's Note:**

> For the [SPN Rare OTP Fic-A-Month Challenge](http://otpfic-a-month.livejournal.com) for April. Theme: (Inspired by/references) Another fictional universe.
> 
> Because I'm a massive musical nerd, I picked Chess, which I wholly recommend tracking down and watching if you haven't (hint: it's on Youtube). Hopefully this makes sense without having seen it…

Gabriel’s cell phone went off, the buzzing too loud in the quiet dark of the hotel room. He mumbled what he hoped was a “fuck off”, but all he managed was nonsense muffled by the soft cotton of Gadreel’s shirt.

By all rights, he shouldn’t ignore it. The final match of the World Chess Championship was this afternoon, and that call could mean anything. Big, game-changing news. But Gabriel knew how this match would go. It had been decided before the players had ever sat down at the board two weeks ago, which was why he couldn’t be bothered to give a shit now. What would one phone call possibly change?

Gadreel answered that question for him. “You should get that,” he said, voice thick with sleep.

Under normal circumstances Gadreel was able to convince Gabriel of a lot of things—like leaving Crowley and helping him defect to America and that falling in love with him could ever be a good idea—but on this morning, Gabriel was unmoved. The idea of pushing out the world for as long as possible, to delay the inevitable even if just for a moment, was too appealing. “Nngh,” was his eloquent way of vocalizing this.

He felt Gadreel reach over him, and the buzzing was interrupted for a moment, before the phone clattered back to the nightstand. “It's Ruby.”

“Goddamn it.” Gabriel's first coherent words were still slurred and lacking the vehemence he felt, despite his best efforts. Groping in the darkness, he managed to find his phone and hit “answer” just before it went to voicemail. “What?”

“Well I was going to ask if you've seen the news, but since you sound like Rip Van Winkle coming out of a nap, I'll take that as a no,” Ruby said, and Gabriel wondered how the hell she could be anything close to chipper at this hour.

So he couldn't help snapping, "What news?" at her, rolling onto his back and trying to avoid what he knew to be Gadreel's curious face. Not that any news Ruby gave them could be any worse than their current predicament, but Gabriel couldn't take the chance.

On the other end of the line, Ruby paused, and Gabriel would be damned if she didn't take a dramatic deep breath before replying, “Gadreel won.”

Gabriel sat up, one eyebrow raised at the dresser across the room, like through it he could stare down Ruby. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean? The final match is still this afternoon, unless I slept through it.” Which he'd been tempted to do.

“It would be, if Castiel hadn't grabbed both his seconds and caught the first flight to St. Petersburg at four this morning,” Ruby said, casual, like complete surrender in a game at a global level happened every day.

Four AM. Just three hours ago. Gabriel had been asleep—or his version of sleep lately, which consisted of clinging to Gadreel and wandering through dreams trying not to think about the final match and its outcome. What could have caused Cas, the chess-playing machine Russia couldn't shut up about, to up and leave without a word? And on the morning of the last match? “Are we sure he forfeited?” Gabriel asked, still trying to wrap his mind around the concept.

Ruby made a noise, and there was the sound of papers shuffling in the background. “Naomi went to check on him at six, and his room was empty except for a note with his forfeit, plus two similar ones from his seconds, all legit. The match and the championship are Gadreel's.”

“What about—” Gabriel stopped himself, because he didn't know how much Ruby knew, what parts of the plan she was in on. If he wanted that answer, he'd have to talk to Naomi herself. “Well, thanks, I guess.”

He went to hang up, but Ruby cut in before he could hit the “end” button. “Look, Gabe. About your father. I'll try to renegotiate with Naomi, see if there's anything else we can do to get him out. Without our leverage, it'll be tough, but—”

“Save it. Whatever old drunk you pull out of a Moscow prison isn't going to be my father, no matter how you slice it. Do what you want.” He doesn't know where the words came from, or why he hadn't said them sooner. Then again, Ruby's gambit was small-time compared to Naomi's, so what difference would it have made but jeopardized everything? “Though you should stick to journalism, Ruby. It suits you better.” Gabriel hung up before she could respond and tossed his phone to the end of the bed, feeling dissatisfied and empty despite the weight that had been lifted from his shoulders.

Arms wrapped around his waist, warm and secure, and Gabriel felt himself relaxing instantly. He leaned back into the embrace, sliding his hand down Gadreel's arm to twine their fingers together.

“What did she have to say?” Gadreel's question was quiet, as if he was afraid to ask.

Gabriel sighed. “You won, apparently. Castiel is on his way back to St. Petersburg along with Sam and Dean.”

“That is… unexpected.” He held Gabriel tighter, head resting against his, though he was quiet for several moments. “I should go talk to Naomi. There's no reason she wouldn't let Abner go, but.”

Whatever relief Gabriel might have felt evaporated, and the fear of Gadreel slipping so easily out of his grasp returned. Biting his lip, he asked, “Do you want me to come?”

Gadreel shook his head. “I'd rather leave you out of it, just in case.”

Not that Naomi had, not if she was working with Ruby, but Gabriel let it go. Forcing himself into the situation might only make things worse. “Okay. I'll go see Balthazar and make sure everything is not-bullshit.”

* * *

The arbiter was surprisingly laidback about the whole thing. While the rules didn't allow for a player to forfeit while the games were tied, the fact that Castiel and his seconds were out of their reach left only one option, unless Balthazar wanted to piss off every sponsor and every higher-up and the World Chess Federation. Barring that, Gadreel was the winner and remained world champion.

Gabriel left Balthazar's office in a daze. Everything going on around him barely made sense, hadn't since they'd set foot in Sochi and saw Crowley delivering a news broadcast for Global. He wandered around the city for a couple hours, waiting for Gadreel to call him and give a status report about Abner or, and this was the scenario his mind was finding more likely, to say goodbye.

Somehow he found his way to the beach, though he didn't realize where his feet had taken him until he almost fell face-first into the sand. Several tourists turned to stare and laugh at him, but Gabriel was more concerned with the one who didn't. Giving his adoring crowd an embarrassed but knowing smile, he marched over to the one asshole who was pig-headed enough to wear all-black to the beach.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

Crowley angled himself to look at him, and Gabriel noticed the flask in his hand, though his hold on it was loose, almost careless. “Same as you, I imagine. Musing on the strange turn of events this tournament has taken.”

“You know about that, huh? Why am I not surprised?” Gabriel sat down in the sand beside Crowley and sighed. Part of him was still angry at the man, but he was also tired—tired of being left out of the loop, of all the little games both sides had been playing. Wasn't watching two of the sharpest minds in the world participate in the ultimate test of cerebral fitness enough for these people?

“I believe it was you who taught me how to get all the good gossip, angel, so don't even start,” Crowley said. The nickname made Gabriel grit his teeth against the emotions it conjured, but he was too exhausted to call Crowley on it. “How's Gadreel taking it?”

Gabriel shot him a look, glancing at the flask. Had he drained the whole damn thing? It wasn't even fucking noon. “Fine,” he said, slow, trying to keep the disbelief out of his voice and failing. He could've elaborated, probably should've if Crowley was expending the energy to care, drunk or not, but that would imply that Gabriel owed him anything. And after the debacle that was their last conversation, he really didn't.

Silence stretched between them, easy despite all the bad blood. Then again, everything with Crowley had always been easy, whether it was banter or gambits or sex. Until last year. Until Gadreel.

“Look, Gabriel, I want to—”

“Don't.” Crowley's immediate silence made Gabriel wonder if he'd had any plans of actually finishing that apology, pointless as it would've been, and they both knew it. “Just tell me why.”

Crowley raised an eyebrow at him. “Why…?”

“Why you played Ruby's game. You were always adamant about not being anyone's pawn, and then you pull that stunt. I don't—” Gabriel had to stop himself, anger and disappointment swelling in his chest.

The once-world champion's lips quirked, not a smile but more genuine than his trademark smirk. “Come to that, neither do I. It could've been the cheap scotch. Who knows?”

Gabriel found himself laughing, because there was more truth in that lie than Crowley would ever cop to, the man's choice of words always far too deliberate for there to be any other explanation. “You're such an ass.”

“Pot, kettle, darling,” Crowley said.

Even if Gabriel had a defense for that, which he didn't, it wouldn't have mattered. His phone went off, and it turned out to be a text from Gadreel.

_Where are you?_

Alarms went off in Gabriel's head. He felt glued to the sand, even as every instinct screamed at him—get out, you idiot, while you still can, before it gets so much worse. His fingers moved unbidden on the keyboard. _Beach, two blocks down from the hotel._

“Everything all right?”

All Gabriel could manage was, “We're gonna find out.”

And if he didn't know better, he could've sworn he saw an _actual_ smile on Crowley's face as Gadreel approached.

To make it worse, Gadreel showed no sign of being perturbed by Crowley's presence. Instead he took a seat on Gabriel's other side, like the three of them on a beach together was the most natural thing in the world. “I'm sorry for taking so long. I was at the airport making sure Abner got safely on a flight back to Moscow.”

“Naomi let him go? Just like that?” Gabriel asked, snappier than he'd intended.

“That isn't to say it didn't take a lot of convincing to get her to do so, but once she saw she had no leverage and, more importantly, no goal, she let him go,” Gadreel said. And then he twisted to look over at Crowley. “I understand you had something to do with that.”

Crowley didn't meet Gadreel's eyes, though Gabriel could see the smile playing at the corner of his mouth. “‘Something’ is a good word for it.”

“Do I even want to know what you did?” Gabriel asked, unable to help the long-suffering sigh that came with it.

“I merely suggested to Castiel that if he wanted an honest victory, he wouldn't get it here,” Crowley said with a shrug. “Honestly, I thought he ignored me, until Dean texted me their ‘gratitude’ at the arse-crack of dawn this morning.”

There was amusement in Gadreel's tone as he replied, “Let me guess. You did all of this for the sake of the integrity of chess.”

This time Crowley did look up, smug asshole mask firmly in place. “Naturally.”

Gabriel didn't have the energy to call bullshit. He settled for glaring at Crowley before turning back to Gadreel. “So, Balthazar said you're still the champion.”

Gadreel's shoulders sagged, voice worn at the edges. “So we can go through all of this again next year. Wonderful.”

“As long as you don't end up against a Russian, everything should be fair,” Crowley said.

“Not that you couldn't easily do something about that or anything,” Gabriel said without thinking.

A raised eyebrow flickered across Crowley's face. “I just might.”

The conversation was interrupted once more by Gabriel's phone, this time texts from Balthazar about the closing ceremonies. Gabriel raised his head to report all this to Gadreel but stopped short when their eyes met.

His partner was giving him this _look_ , and in the second it took Gabriel to figure out where he'd seen it before, Gadreel was saying, “If you are, I would recommend doing it outside Naomi's realm of control.” He paused, and there it was again—the gambit face. This time Gabriel made no move to stop it. “New York, for example, is nice this time of year.”

Crowley laughed, of all things. “What? Overcrowded and freezing and possibly up to your knees in snow? How can a girl resist such charms?”

And with that, Gabriel's threshold for nonsense had been reached. This had to stop, though he wasn't sure why he was going along with any of it to begin with. The idea was insane, and Gabriel wondered if all the chess had finally broken Gadreel's brain, but it also seemed like the perfect solution. Perhaps if they'd thought of it sooner, none of this would have happened.

Gabriel stood, abrupt and dramatic enough to grab Crowley's attention. “Well, I'm buying three tickets back to the States. Maybe Ruby'll need a ride.”

“Goddamn bastards, the both of you,” Crowley said, shaking his head.

Gadreel, bless him, knew exactly which string to pull. “Just imagine the press coverage.”

And then Crowley grinned, and Gabriel found he knew this one too. The grin of a man pulling off a risky, lengthy move. He would've been angry, but Gabriel was a sucker for a well-constructed scheme, when it worked in his favor. “Well, then. Count me in.”


End file.
